Dear family, friends, and kind strangers,

My name is Anne-Marie, and many of you know me as the only daughter of Mary.

Mary passed away on April 9th, 2025, in hospital, aged 86. Many of you will remember her as a small, fiery Irish lady with a huge smile and an even bigger heart.

I’ve created this GoFundMe appeal so I can fly home from Australia and take her ashes back to her birthplace — Swinford, Co. Mayo, Ireland — just as she wished.

Mary died in the council house where I was raised, her home of 55 years. She left behind no savings, no will, no assets — only a collection of clothes. Those who knew her, knew she adored her clothes and shoes!

Her Story ~~

In her last few years I am grateful that we talked deeply — about faith and doubt, about death, her childhood, and the painful loss of her parents. She was the youngest of six and the last to go. We arranged a funeral plan in 2018, and she chose cremation.

Her only request was to have her ashes taken home to Ireland — to be scattered where she was happiest, growing up with nothing but the beauty of nature and the love of her family. She believed that was all anyone ever really needed to live a contented life.

A Life of Courage ~~

This chapter of her life is hard to write about, but it shouldn’t be forgotten. Mary came to the UK from Ireland at just 16, traveling alone from Mayo to Belfast, then taking the ferry to be with family. Like many Irish in the 1950s, she came seeking work and a better life.

Back then, young women from poor Catholic backgrounds were expected to marry and have children. Love was a bonus — not an expectation.

She married at 20. My father, a troubled man, had come from India on a boat in the 1950s and grew up in an orphanage that was called a 'school'. He was one of many mixed-race children taken from their mothers and placed in institutions, often suffering terrible abuse. His trauma became ours, and for most of the 40 years they were married, my mother endured domestic violence.

Like so many women of her generation, Mary suffered in silence. There were no safe houses for women and children back then. Too many women of her generation accepted it was just to be put up with. Abuse and mental health issues were hidden and not talked about, considered shameful and ultimately ignored. My father passed in 2004 of an aggressive form of Parkinson's Disease. She nursed him to the very end. It’s hard to believe. But she was a fighter with an enormous sense of compassion which lit her soul with love and light .

A Shining Light ~~

I don’t want her to be remembered only as a survivor.

She should be remembered for her essence — that soul that shone so brightly. She was considered the wild one of the family when she was younger, which always made me laugh. Back then, in the 1950's being considered wild could mean that just meant wearing lipstick, smoking ciggies, enjoying dancing, and bleaching your hair like Marilyn Monroe... she did all of that !

She was funny, brave, outspoken and wise. And she worked so hard.

I remember going with her to early-morning cleaning jobs as a child, before she started her day as a “home help” — more cleaning. She worked factory shifts starting at 6 a.m., often walking miles to get there in the dark. She proudly kept a spotless home, cooked every meal, and spent Sunday afternoons doing the ironing for the family. Her strength — both mental and physical — was awe-inspiring.

It was Mary who urged me to leave the UK and be with my daughters. She said, “Life is too short — live it!”. She is the inspiration for me to carry on and try to live my best life.

Golden Memories ~~

Her childhood in Mayo was one of poverty, but she always laughed when telling the stories — because despite having nothing, they were happy.

Running barefoot or wearing ‘donated from the nun’s’ boots stuffed with hay. Sleeping on hay mattresses. Using a shared drop toilet. Cooking over an open fire. Big pots of spuds and scallions

She’d laugh about my grandfather, Birdie Clarke, scaring them with stories of the banshees and my grandmother Nellie flinging holy water around during storms.

Those days, she said, were "golden".

Why I’m Asking for Help ~~

I am doing this GoFundMe as Mary left no money, she had no assets or Will. As much as I wanted to be with her in hospital for her last days, I believed that she would pull through her op. Living on the other side of the world had major challenges for us both, plus, I wanted her to keep going. Selfishly perhaps. And now, I just desperately want to be near her and take her back to the place of her golden memories — to scatter her ashes where she can finally rest in peace, surrounded by the love and land she never forgot.

I want to visit all the places she told me about. I want to sit in a pub, hear the traditional music she loved, and raise a glass of Guinness in her honour.

It's not easy for me to ask for help but I believe that mum is willing me on. She knows that I am proud and independent. But, as mum would often quote when I was feeling unsure, " Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you". So, here I am — asking. She gave everything she had to her family and to life. She deserves peace. So, please, If you can help in any way to fund my travel and fulfil her final wish, I will be forever grateful.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

With love and appreciation,

Anne-Marie